hapter 58
I should feel on top of the fucking world right now.
11
I just landed my first official byline–the kind of shit most interns would sell their souls for–and yet here I am… pacing my shitty apartment like a fucking lunatic, chain–smoking mental breakdowns in the form of stale gas station nicotine gum.
Because the one story that could make my entire carcer–the one I’ve been chasing my whole goddamn life-
Is him.
The Alpha King.
And his fiance.
The faceless ghost who clawed his way back from death.
The same man who left me behind in the middle of the night with nothing but a cheap silver chain hanging around my neck.
Enoch fucking Blackwell.
The man I babysitted.
My murderer.
I grind the gum harder between my molars, the bitter taste burning the roof of my mouth.
I wish I could hate him.
I wish I could rip this necklace off and throw it into the gutter where it fucking belongs–pretend like I didn’t spend the last six months sleeping with it tucked under my pillow.
But I can’t.
Because no matter how much I want to carve him out of me–he’s still there.
Lodged under my skin like a rusted nail.
But he’s about to get married, Taryn.
I keep telling myself that ever since I saw that article and yet I can’t seem to wrap my head around it. Do I even have the right to feel like this?
I stare down at the half–empty coffee cup in my hand, the logo smudged from my sweaty grip. Zoe’s voice drifts in from the bathroom, humming some shitty pop song while she curls her hair.
We’re in my apartment right now, planning to have the day to ourselves.
“I still can’t believe Liam actually gave you the gig.”
“Me neither,” I mutter, tapping the rim of the cup against my bottom lip.
It’s been three days since that meeting. Three days since I walked out of his office with shaking hands and the taste of victo still sharp on my tongue.
And yet the more I dig into the Alpha King…
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The less I want to find.
Every article, every headline–it’s the same recycled propaganda bullshit.
Mysterious new ruler rises from the ashes.
A savior to the packs.
A ghost king about to get married.
They paint him like some fucking war hero–this mythical, untouchable figure wrapped in shadows.
But I know better.
I know exactly what kind of monster wears that crown.
I saw it in his eyes the night he pinned me against the cabin wall–when his fingers wrapped around my throat like he was trying to memorize the shape of breaking me—yet fucking me at the same time.
I should’ve run.
I should’ve locked the door behind him and never looked back.
Instead, I begged him to stay.
My laptop is open on the kitchen counter–tabs stacked on top of each other though a house of cards ready to collapse.
Alpha King Blackwell’s Rise to Power
The Imperial Pack Massacre–Five Years Later
Unsolved Disappearances
Unknown Heir Rumors
The Alpha King’s Fiancee.
The cursor blinks in the search bar–waiting.
My fingers hover over the keys.
I don’t even know what I’m looking for anymore.
Evidence? Closure? Some kind of fucked–up proof that I meant something to him?
Or maybe I’m just waiting to find his name buried under some blood–soaked headline.
Dead.
Gone.
Out of my fucking system for good.
My heart gives a sharp, ugly twist–like the traitorous little bitch it is.
Zoe struts out of the bathroom, flipping her hair over one shoulder.
“Okay, how do I look?”
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I glance up, barely registering the ripped jeans and crop top she’s squeezed her tits into.
“Like you’d fuck a minor celebrity for clout.”
“Perfect.” She winks at herself in the mirror, then swipes my untouched coffee straight out of my hand.
“I’m still not sure about this whole Alpha King investigation thing, by the way.”
“Noted.”
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“I’m serious, T. People don’t dig into him unless they want to disappear. They say he’s got eyes everywhere–spies hidden in every pack.”
I snort, dragging my fingers through my tangled hair.
“Please. If he really had spies everywhere, they’d have killed me years ago for throwing a stapler at my ex’s dick.” That definitely happened back in the pack. I didn’t mean for it to but it hit Kallias‘ crotch when he asked for it.
“You’re not funny.”
“I’m fucking hilarious.”
The door buzzer screams through the apartment, cutting off whatever lecture Zoe was about to launch into.
She groans, stomping toward the intercom.
“If that’s another delivery from that weird guy with the raccoon eyes-”
“It’s for me.”
I already know who it is before she even presses the button.
-The envelope waiting downstairs isn’t marked. No return address.
But I’ve been chasing stories long enough to know when someone wants to be found.
Thirty minutes later, I’m sitting in the middle of my floor with documents spread out around me like a crime scene.
The files are old–yellowed edges and black–and–white photos stapled to crisp typewritten reports. It was on the archive I was able to access thanks to Zoe.
Most of it is standard council shit–border patrol logs, missing persons reports, smuggling accusations.
But buried at the bottom-
There’s a crest.
Stamped in blood–red ink on the corner of a classified file.
A black wolf with a crown of jagged thorns around its head.
My stomach lurches, cold sweat prickling down my spine.
I’ve seen that symbol before–long before I ever found Enoch bleeding out in the woods.
Flash.
My father’s voice in the dark.
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“Never forget who you are.”
Flash.
The scent of gunpowder and pine.
Flash.
A silver chain slipping over my head–rough fingers brushing against my neck.
“This is the only thing that will ever keep you safe.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, shoving the memory back into the black hole where it belongs.
None of this makes sense.
My father was just a pack member, right? I was declared an Omega when I was adopted in the Riverstone Pack so that would mean my family too, would have been a bunch of Omegas.
He wasn’t part of the higher. He wasn’t important.
He couldn’t have been-
The door slams open, snapping me out of it.
“Come on, broody bitch.” Zoe flicks her sunglasses onto her head. “We’re going shopping before your paranoid little journalist brain explodes all over the floor.”
I want to argue, but the walls are starting to feel like they’re closing in around me.
Maybe fresh air will help.
Maybe the universe will give me one fucking day without trying to unravel my entire life.
We wander through the city for hours–popping in and out of overpriced boutiques while Zoe talks nonstop about her situationship with some wolf from the Silvermoon Pack.
I barely hear a word she says.
My mind is still trapped in that fucking crest.
What the hell was my father hiding from me?
Who the hell was he?
Who the hell am I?
We’re halfway across the street when the black limo barrels around the corner–fast enough to send my heart into my throat.
“Holy shit–Taryn, move!”
The tires screech.
I stumble back just in time, the rush of hot exhaust blowing hair into my face.
The tinted window rolls up–just enough for me to see the silhouette inside.
My heart slams against my ribs.
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No fucking way.
I don’t think-
I don’t breathe-
I just throw my coffee straight at the glass.
“Watch where you’re going, asshole!”
The limo doesn’t stop.
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A strange shiver runs down my spine as I stare at the tinted car driving off. It felt as though someone was looking at me from the inside.
But who?
